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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28122561">in victory’s wake</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/houndstooth/pseuds/houndstooth'>houndstooth</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Granblue Fantasy (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Developing Friendships, Fluff and Angst, Gen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-11 00:13:44</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,109</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28122561</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/houndstooth/pseuds/houndstooth</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p></p><blockquote>
  <p>“Cookie?” </p>
  <p>Lyria’s voice at his side breaks him out of his turn towards pointless thoughts.</p>
</blockquote>A month later.
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>in victory’s wake</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The skies are a deep and stunning blue now, an seemingly endless view that stretches from horizon to horizon. It is a good, solid color, and no clouds wisps across its length that threaten storms or rain. Lyria had promised him that one day, when they visit Auguste for the summer as they usually do, he’ll get to see the same sight reflected in its warm, glittering waves. </p><p>He had promised many things, too: protection, guardianship, safety—that, and more. Desperate promises. Hopeful promises. All unfulfilled due to his own shortcomings. This one too, he had believed, would not be meant to be; how long would he stay aboard this ship after all? How long would he be welcome here after he had extended his usefulness? </p><p>Her promise had circled the back of his thoughts for a spell. He wished it weak, something easy to push aside, but it was not—it was too simple, too <em> hopeful </em> to be. </p><p>So, yes; soon. Soon he would see Auguste and its sky-like seas, because Lyria had promised him so and he was not one to renege on promises. And after that, who knew what he would be but the stars themselves?</p><p>The sky was a calming blue, quiet and ordinary, and it was on days like these that he found himself periodically staying his tasks to look out towards the horizon, a muted but intense curl of trepidation flickering to life within his core as he scanned the empty skies. </p><p>It was on days like these that Freyr found himself feeling stagnant. Apprehensive. Awaiting something that would, hopefully, not come.</p><p>Part of him expected to see a dark speck appear at the edge of his vision. It would grow bigger and bigger, a quickly growing shape that converges on the Grandcypher on its path through the sky with unnatural speed, filling the still air with the thunderous flapping of leathery wings. </p><p>Part of him expected to see a familiar visage; dark hair and dark eyes—a different, more unkind blue—as Geo would descend upon the helpless ship in a fury in the form that he had fled in. A furious display of searing fire and dark scales, sharp claws digging in and splintering parts of the ship when he lands on the deck, his face twisted into an expression of indescribable fury.</p><p>Back then, it had taken considerable effort to even wound him. In the end, it was only due to the appearance of another primal beast that they had survived to see another day. If Geo decided to strike back now, Freyr had no idea of if they would be granted such favor a second time; though Gran and Lyria and the rest of their crew were not weak by any means, much time has passed since they last went up against the errant primal. Freyr would not be surprised if Geo had absorbed many more cores, or had twisted the wills of those who would not obey him, or had found another primal to take Freyr’s place at his side. </p><p>Most days, fortunately, there was no sign of such a dot. No all-encompassing sense of danger overcomes him and has him reaching for his sword. No tense and malevolent pressure that has Freyr stricken with terrible guilt and uncharacteristic uncertainty. </p><p>Most days—such as today—as half of the crew heading into town on an errand for Siero finished ensuring they had everything they needed and Freyr paused to look out at the clear horizon as he made his way to follow as had been asked of him, there was nothing that met his eyes except the soft and empty blue of the skies beyond. </p><p>And that, for now, was all that he could really ask for. </p>
<hr/><p>Freyr sat on a bench underneath a large tree, its thick leaves offering a bit of shade from the afternoon sun. Sierokarte’s request had been fulfilled; the crew had turned to procuring supplies and stocking up on what they needed for another long journey.</p><p>They had not asked him for his assistance this time, and so he had found somewhere quiet to rest and wait for the group to reconvene again. </p><p>In skydwellers’ terms, it had been a month since he had stepped onto the deck of this airship and left the island. A month since he had felt that flicker of hope within these peculiar skydwellers and turned his sword against Geo. A month since Geo had fled, and with him, had taken that promise of coveted repose and gentle serenity. </p><p>No regret—but definitely a little sense of sorrow, for being unable to take everything that scoured and clawed at his core and cease to acknowledge it. The pain would last much longer. The mending would take more effort. </p><p>Primal beasts did not measure time in the same way that skydwellers did—for reasons beyond the most obvious difference between them. While mortals celebrated their birth, primals had no reason to do such a thing. While mortals hungered for faraway milestones and sought to burnish themselves with short-lived (to Freyr’s eyes, at least) achievements, primals did what was required of them. </p><p>(Is it so bad, he had often wondered, when the world that had emerged after the end of the War had yet to inflict its deep wounds on his core, to simply know what to <em> do? </em> To not be burdened with the consequence of choice, to just follow the will of the greater lord that commanded you? </p><p>Back then, he had not questioned it. Strove to do his duty as a guardian, bearing his sword aloft and creating that coveted path to glory as the war had raged and surged all around him. </p><p>Such was his duty, after all.)</p><p>The lifespan of mortals—short, ephemeral, a brilliant spark of consequence against the dark whorl of the universe—did, however, make a good aid to catalogue events in a way that skydwellers could understand. Since his turning away from Geo, in that month, unease had turned to uncertainty had turned to… routine. </p><p>And this routine was good. Rewarding. He had come to take a little bit of delight in the gratitude that came with fulfilled missions, even from skydwellers. Better than knowing what was to come, and struggling and failing to change it, even by a minute amount. </p><p>“Cookie?” </p><p>Lyria’s voice at his side breaks him out of his turn towards pointless thoughts. He had not noticed her arrival, so deep in thought as he had been; neither had Gullinbursti come snorting out to alert him, since she was not a threat, but it was an oversight on his part nonetheless. He blinks and rises to turn and face her, nodding in greeting. </p><p>Complacency, he knew—for him and Gullinbursti both—but the thought of such a thing didn't trouble him as much as it should have. </p><p>Lyria holds up a box, inclining it closer to him so he could see what was inside. They were freshly baked, the sweet smell of sugar and chocolate filling the air.</p><p>“They’re <em>really</em> good. And I thought you’d want something to eat.”</p><p>The genuine smile on her face still managed to set off a twinge of confusion within him, even though he’s managed to become quite used to her… amiable demeanor. She was too kind to him—and a part of him wanted to know why, when she had no reason to—but, truly, she was kind to everyone. That was just the way she was. </p><p>A stray thought, unwelcome and unbidden: she would not have lasted very long on that island. </p><p>“Is there an occasion I am unaware of?” he asks, courteously picking one up. Sweets like these he thought skydwellers only partook of around certain occasions. He figured there was always an occasion.  He had no need to eat, but he would acknowledge the gesture for the little bit of warmth it brought him. </p><p>Her smile seems to get larger, her eyes shining with delight at his acceptance of her offering.</p><p>“Not at all!” She answers as she settles herself next to him to start eating, placing the box in between them on the bench as she does so. </p><p>Following suit, Freyr sits back down as well. </p><p>Her voice is cheerful and young, much in the same way a spring breeze would carry the promise of a warm day soon to come.</p><p>That, too, he had come to appreciate again: the gentle touch of the winds. His innate element. Outside of the island, it seemed that much more... pure, and not mired in agony.</p><p>“After we finished today’s errand, the bakery owners wanted to thank us for our help.” She laughs a little. “They gave us so many boxes! <em> Too </em> many, Katalina insists, but… it’s not often we get to have sweets like this. I’ll have to be sure to save some for when we meet with Siero again.”</p><p>He had refused her only once—the first time, when those thoughts of <em> what could have been </em> plagued him more incessantly than they did today. Whether it was due to a deeper sentiment that had flickered to life since his moving onto the ship, one that he could not name at the time (and still couldn’t, though it was clearer to him now than before), he had not done so again. </p><p>Freyr nods thoughtfully at her explanation. Payment of a sorts, though he was sure they had been given some of the realm’s currency for their assistance as well. “A gift for your hard work,” he comments. Mortals had long worked out the intricacies of trade between each other, adding special touches as they saw fit.</p><p><em> “Our </em> hard work,” she corrects. She beams at him, her gratitude towards him clear. “We couldn’t have done it all without your help!”</p><p>And that was true; he <em> had </em> helped—but it had just been as a primal beast of his demeanor would. Gran had asked, so he had assisted. Nothing more, nothing less. And as long as he was a occupant on their airship, he would do whatever was asked of him; it was only fair, after what he had done to their friends in Geo’s name.</p><p>...He did not have the heart to respond to her with this. “Thank you,” he says graciously instead.</p><p>Satisfied at his taking some of the commendation, Lyria turns and goes through the cookies with glee.</p><p>They <em> were </em> good, he had to admit, as he finished off his own and picked up another. Many of the things he’d been introduced courtesy of the crew have been. </p><p>Briefly, he wonders if the idea to approach him had been hers alone. </p><p>Lyria pauses when there’s only a few left. She looks around, clearly in search of something, then looks up at him when she doesn’t find it. “Do you think Gullinbursti would want some?” </p><p>That Freyr was unsure of, though more along the lines of <em> intent </em> rather than <em> desire. </em>He was a creature of pure Astral energy; living, yes, and certainly capable of eating physical food if the urge struck him (and usually it only did because Freyr was and he did not feel keen on being left out). He bites into the cookie he had taken, chewing and swallowing before answering. </p><p>“Gullinbursti prefers snacks of a rarer quality,” he says. And seeing that Gullinbursti had not come when called, nor at the scent of the cookies as it had wafted on the wind, Freyr could assume said goods were of no interest to him. As expected of his friend. Despite himself, a small smile curves his lips as he thinks of Gullinbursti perhaps flicking an ear at him in annoyance. “He is a little spoiled.”</p><p><em> “Really? </em> Oh, I didn’t know—but I promise to bring him something good to eat next time!”</p><p>“I am sure he would appreciate it,” Frey responds with a soft nod. Gullinbursti had no need of physical food, either, but the boar would not refuse something more to his tastes if it was offered to him. “Though he is much more content to be of assistance whenever he can than be satisfied with physical delicacies. Still,” he adds, a part of him duly noticing how she had edged closer to hear him speak, “he is quite fond of fruit. Apples, peaches… those sorts.”</p><p>Lyria beams. “I’ll keep it in mind, then!” And as if sensing Gullinbursti relaxing nearby, unseen so as to not be disturbed by the more curious passerbys of the town as Freyr had waited in the square, she clasps her hands together and nods solemnly in his direction. “I’ll make today up to you! Next time I come see Freyr, I’ll have some apples for you, okay?”</p><p>An ear flick in response. </p><p><em> She can’t see you, </em> Freyr reminds him. </p><p>Gullinbursti blinks in contemplation at this… and settles into a more comfortable position—still invisible. </p><p>“He’s looking forward to it,” Freyr says in his stead.</p><p>And as they wait for the others, with Lyria filling the time with past stories and events before Freyr had joined, and once they’d got everything they needed and had everyone accounted for, and as he follows them back to the airship, he finds himself once more pausing to look up at the sky. </p><p>Still blue. </p><p>Still empty. </p>
<hr/><p>A quiet night.</p><p>The waxing moon hangs bright in the sky, its light occasionally shadowed by the clouds that drift across its face. He’s stopped his pacing to watch it—would Geo ever come at night, with the crew fast asleep and near defenseless? </p><p>Possibly. Maybe. Fairness had been cast aside as soon as they had rebuked him and his goals. An attack at night would not be beyond his ken.</p><p>He makes to resume his pacing again—but stops. This time, he senses Lyria as she approaches, and he turns to face her as she briskly walks up. </p><p>“Freyr!” She sounds pleased, almost, to see him. The smile that flits across her face is one of fond delight. </p><p>“Good evening.” </p><p>Her eyes flick down to the hand he has resting on his sword, then back up at him. “Are you on guard duty tonight?”</p><p>“No, but I find walking the ship from stern to bow several rounds a night an adept means to gather my thoughts. Gullinbursti joins me sometimes.” </p><p>“But not today,” she says, looking around for any sign of the boar and finding none. </p><p>“Not today,” he confirms. Gullinbursti was fast asleep tonight. He inclines his head towards her in a thankful gesture. “He greatly appreciated the apples you gave him last time. I wanted to let you know.”</p><p>“Oh, good! I’m glad—Vyrn helped me pick them out. He has the eye for that sort of thing—but just for apples.” Lyria laughs to herself at that, brief but full of fondness for her friend. “Well, we all have different talents!”</p><p>It was not often that Freyr bumped into Lyria at night. And though she had been quick to smile and ease her way into light conversation… something else seemed off. He studies her—yes, something seemed to be bothering her. Her eyes were far too honest. “Is everything alright?”</p><p>She blinks, clearly caught off guard by the question. </p><p>Remembering himself, Freyr bows his head. “That was remiss of me. I apologize; you needn’t explain yourself to me.”</p><p>Lyria seems to take no offense to it, once she’s found her footing again. In fact, she seemed relieved, again, to have been asked. “I’m… well, I couldn’t sleep, so I wanted to take a little walk. Just down the hall and back! But before I knew it I was out here, and I saw you, so…” She trails off, eyes dropping to the wooden planks beneath their feet. </p><p>Something in her tone implied that there was more to it than just that, though. Freyr waits for her to continue—or not, if she so chooses.</p><p>“I sensed you,” she finally says, looking back up. “Your aura was stronger than usual, and I couldn’t help but pick it up. You were thinking about… something you didn’t want to.”</p><p>Ah. <em> That. </em>Had his musings woken her somehow? That was no good. </p><p>“Your sense of it is correct. As I said, walking at night helps me gather my thoughts—I suppose they were louder than usual today.”</p><p>Lyria peers at him, searching his face for something only she knew. “Do you want to talk about it? Only if you want to, of course. I’d like to help, if I can.”</p><p>“My burdens are mine alone to bear.” <em> Too harsh, </em> he thinks; Lyria looks a little crestfallen at that. Freyr sighs, and tries again, this time bending down on one knee to match her height. She deserved his utmost respect. “No, but I appreciate the sentiment. I am in no position to have such generosity extended towards me, nor have I any reason to ask anything more of you. You and Gran have given me enough already.”</p><p>Lyria hesitates, but gives in to a little nods. There’s a little bit of warmth returning to her face, trailed with a sense of earnest honesty. “I understand… I think.” Still, her expression remains downcast. “I can see that you’re still hurting,” she continues. What she didn’t say was clear. Lyria clasps her hands together, her voice full of an apology too practiced for his liking. “I’m sorry.”</p><p>Her expression of regret hangs in the air between them, and her eyes hold his, and oh—such pity, such frustration, such sorrow in those eyes; but he didn’t know if it was <em> hers or mine.</em></p><p>He rises back up to a standing position, eyes closed in contemplation for the briefest moment. As he had thought… Well, it was not her place to do such a thing. To apologize. Yet Freyr knew she meant well. She always does. From his time with her, and how she treated the world, a brighter path laid before her and she always meant to take it.  </p><p>Even if that meant... </p><p>
  <em> Suffer, then, in silence.  </em>
</p><p>And he had. From the end of the War, when he had been thrown away by his creator. For longer than he’d expected to. For ten lifetimes, maybe more; the days and nights and regrets and failures had blurred into one long string of <em> what if’s </em> and <em> could have’s,</em> and a trail of promises that, try as he might, he could not keep. He could not sift through it all, and did not want to, but the painful weight of it would bear down on him for the rest of his existence. </p><p>“You have nothing to apologize for,” he says to her. Which is true, because Gran and Lyria had been no more knowledgeable of the truth than the other skydwellers had been when they had first landed on the island. And Gran and his crew had been horrified to learn it, and their horror had been true—this had been clear to him—while the other skydwellers had shrugged off his pleas with the ease one might have shaken off a blow from an untrained warrior. Freyr stares at her, faint curiosity in his tone. “Why do it?”</p><p>She blinks at him. Quiet, uncertain—yet mind racing to give him an answer. Failing that, it seems, because she gives her head a worried shake and offers, “I thought… I thought it would help.”</p><p>A worthy excuse, so simple and genial in its authority. A worthy excuse if it could <em>make it all go away. </em>He understood her intent, he understood she meant well, but—</p><p>A cold edge creeps into his tone despite himself, familiar detachment crawling out of its corner. The moon shines down on them both, moonlight freed from its cloudy prison.“It means nothing to me.”</p><p>Her eyes widen as a brief expression of shock crosses her features. Shock, sadness… a little bit of confusion. “Oh, I… I didn’t mean to upset you.” She falters here, suddenly unsure, eyes searching his face.  </p><p>And it is not her fault. </p><p>Freyr shakes his head, seeking to calm himself. He was far from upset; not at her, not at all with her. He should not take that tone with her. </p><p>He wished Gullinbursti could be here, to offer some kind of otherworldly comfort that he could not give. He tries mustering up as much patience he can from deep within himself. She could empathize with primal beasts, could feel their sorrow and pain and desire to <em> be, </em> but she was not one. </p><p>“I know what you meant by it, and I cannot blame you for trying. But you seek to shoulder the misdeeds of the skydwellers who ransacked the island during waking seasons for their sport,” he says. His fingers lightly brush against the sword at his side before continuing, making sure to soften his words despite the weight they carried. “I shall accept no such apology. I shall extend no such forgiveness.”</p><p>Her grip on the hem of her dress tightens. “But—if there’s some kind of reconciliation possible—!”</p><p>
  <em> If. If. If.  </em>
</p><p>So kind. Too kind. If he had met her earlier in his life, maybe she would have left him with something to secure himself against the pain of the wars he's waded through. Something other than this heavy bitterness towards skydwellers and this aching sense of loss towards his brethren and this pitiful doubt of his own capabilities. </p><p>He had thought forgiveness to be attainable once, too. </p><p>“I have not found it in myself to forgive them,” he responds. For all that he’s seen, all that they’ve done… it would not soothe the ache that haunted him, the guilt that had settled deep in his chest. A sense of shame joins it as her face falls at his words, but she had to understand. “Not now. Not yet. In a few decades, or centuries, or… or maybe not at all. And for better or for worse, you will not be there to see what I choose.”</p><p>Lyria, with her striking idealism that glittered like the last band of daylight in the sky when night was onset, knew what lurked underneath. She had glimpsed it then, and had glimpsed it now—and Freyr knew he was not the first primal, nor the last individual, to face her simple desire to cultivate connection and rebuild them if they were gone. She tried her hardest to coax light from the shadows of this realm—if not from the sun, then from the stars and moon—and it was an effort that he could understand and admire for its immense undertaking. </p><p>Had he known someone like her? Maybe. He thinks he did. Otherwise he would not know how else to face such idealism head-on, and not lose himself in its simplicity. And just like the rest, he had been unable to stop them from being forced into centuries of slumber, and his dreams—if what he wished for could qualify as such—had been dashed to pieces. </p><p>Again. <em> Again.  </em></p><p>And no, he must not falter here; <em>the sword shall not bend, the shield shall not break.</em></p><p>“My purpose,” Freyr says, his voice as gentle as he could make it, “was—<em>is</em>—guardianship. It was what I made for. And I have known nothing else for all the years I have been alive. You must understand, then, why I cannot let them go so easily. Why I did what I had to do.”</p><p>Lyria stays quiet. Her eyes—a familiar, gentle blue behind which flourished a worthwhile dream—study him. Questions burn behind her gaze, questions that he perhaps would have deigned to answer had she voiced them, but instead she gives her head a quick shake, as if to shoo them away. “Nothing is beyond you,” she says instead. A warm smile lights up her face; the wisdom of a person beyond her years flashes in those eyes for a second. “Guardianship—but not just primal beasts, right?”</p><p>There.</p><p>Failure after failure had hardened his heart. The callousness of skydwellers had made him itch with resolve to subvert them, and it would take nigh an eternity to begin to feel something akin to warmth towards them again. But oaths—his oaths, especially—were hard to break, and even harder to deny. </p><p>His creator had made it so.</p><p>
  <em>Be a sword for the worthy. Be a shield for the weak.  </em>
</p><p>Freyr smiles back at her. Tired. Exposed. Bitter, for what else followed broken trust and lost fondness? “No,” he says. “Not just primal beasts.”</p><p>And the sky, in all its ceaseless wonder and potential catastrophe, is still empty. </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>steeples my fingers. primal resonance 2 when. i miss him so bad</p><p>also i thought about this quote a lot while writing this: <i>I wish you could infuse a little confidence in human nature into my heart. The world is too brutal for me.<i></i></i></p></blockquote></div></div>
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